Good Night, Gentle Dreamers

I can’t sleep tonight. Maybe you could blame it on insomnia, or on the pain from my injured ankle. Or maybe you could blame it on the six-hour nap that I took when I crashed out after eating dinner. What the hell do I know? I’m not a sleep doctor.

Oh well. There are far worse things that could happen to you than not being able to sleep when you’re supposed to. For some reason, my favorite time of of day has always been late at night. Nothing beats that calming sensation of solitude you feel as you roam your conscious mind while the world around you lies asleep. There are no distractions, no obligations except the ones you’ll have to worry about in the morning. But worries are what mornings are for. Nighttime is about dreams and possibilities.

Late at night, when you defy the urge to sleep, you are free to think, to write, and to believe. Night is the time when possibilities reach their ripest peaks, when you can entreat the twinkling skies with earnest prayer, and when you can indulge yourself and surrender to your most honest emotions. Night is the time when you are afforded the opportunity to rediscover the joy of solitude. But please don’t misunderstand my meaning. It’s not as if I’m idealizing the life of a misanthropic hermit. In fact, one of the greatest things about the solitude of night is the inevitability of losing it as the sun begins to rise. Loneliness has its merits, but loneliness is for the night.

So I guess I can’t sleep tonight. At the very least, I’ll console myself in the knowledge that all the world around me is wrapped in luscious slumber.

Good night, gentle dreamers. Unfold your tensely wound conceits, your murmurs of weary madness, and dare to believe that this night will grant you the reprieve you seek. May you rest with tired abandon, free and unafraid. Grant me your desires, your dreams of longing, of loss, and of regret. May you dream of only beautiful things, and may you wake in gentle wonder, enriched by your consoling rest.

Good night, gentle dreamers. Maybe I’ll join you tomorrow.